Flashbyte (Byte Series - Ellie Conway Book 4)

by Cat Connor

  “Demelza. I’ll deploy a team.”

  “If he’s gone to the old house, then he’s following an old trail but that doesn’t mean it’s a cold one. Plenty of people know me in Mauryville. Someone could inadvertently give out information.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I was shot at by a sniper. He was using some clever technology and may or may not have been after me. There was also another sniper at my home, but he may be related to another case.” It was starting to sound pretty horrific. “Three women have been strangled, all were Conways.”

  “And?”

  “My home in Oakton blew up. No clue if it’s related.”

  “We shall work on the assumption it is.”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  Let’s work on the assumption that this whole goddamn mess is related.

  “There is a unit on the way for the rendition.”

  A smile crossed my lips. “It’s not a rendition: He’s not in anyone’s custody.”

  Then a barrel of clarity hit me. It is a rendition. They don’t want him on American soil needing questions to be answered. They’re going to render him to a black site. I guessed a Gulfstream IV, registered to a front company, would be at the closest military base.

  “It’s not just my life at stake here.”

  “Have faith, Demelza.”

  I hung up and checked the second message without looking at Kurt.

  One deep breath later and I was making another phone call. “Mr. P. It’s Ellie. Someone came round?”

  “Ellie, girl! Didn’t know if you’d get my message – my fat fingers don’t take to this texting fad.”

  “I got it, sir.” I could see him as clear as day, standing on his front porch wearing those denim overalls trying to text by stabbing at the phone buttons with his oversized sausage fingers. He was Mauryville’s answer to Dukes of Hazzard’s Uncle Jesse. I was on dangerous mentally unstable ground, and needed to stem the impending Dukes of Hazzard interlude.

  “Good. Some nasty looking men came sniffing around earlier this evening, saying they wanted to buy honey. They didn’t want my honey. They kept asking who lived out here, did I know if anyone called Gabrielle lived this far out.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, ma’am, I did not. I called ol’ Kev, and did that texting palaver to you.”

  “Thank you Mr. P. I’ll come out and visit soon. I promise.”

  “Not until these folk have gone off on their merry way, girlie. It’s not safe.”

  “Not until then.”

  I hung up and flopped back on the bed. Waiting for the inquisition to resume with renewed vigor.

  He started slow. “A lot of people care a great deal about keeping you safe …” He crawled across the bed toward me. “… I am not the enemy.” He was leaning over me. His face level with mine. “I am one of those people who care a great deal. I cannot help you if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on!”

  I took a slow breath. “So now you know.”

  “Now I know I’ve brought you somewhere that has the potential to be life threatening. If you’d told me earlier …”

  “We can’t play the ‘if only’ game with this one. I had no idea Arbab would end up in Mauryville trying to find me. I don’t have a crystal ball.”

  “What did you know before you agreed to accompany me as my wife?” He rolled over, propped himself up on an elbow facing me.

  “That someone called Gabrielle Conway was murdered the day before yesterday in Washington, and there was some connection to Habib Arbab. And then another Conway woman was murdered in Alexandria, with no apparent connection to Arbab.” Guess he had a phone book.

  “And then another Conway in DC,” he added. “You didn’t find all this sudden interest in Conway women and a terrorist noteworthy?”

  “Not especially.”

  “I do.”

  “You’re not me,” I countered.

  “I think we can assume the sniper in Blake Lane wasn’t a random shooter, can’t we?”

  “Never assume anything.”

  It makes an ass out of you and me.

  “What does Arbab want with you?”

  “He seems hell bent on my demise.”

  “Why?”

  Oh, that’s such a long boring irrelevant story.

  “I don’t think it matters why.”

  “He wants you dead and it doesn’t matter?”

  “The reasoning behind his behavior is not as important as his behavior.”

  “Ah, Conway, you’ve reached a new level in evasive bullshit.” Kurt leaned closer and growled, “Talk.”

  I suppressed the brewing smirk and obliged. “A long time ago, I sent him home to his father. He was sure his father would have him put to death because of the company he was keeping. I hoped the same. Seems he is still alive and out for revenge, and as I said, the why is irrelevant.”

  “Is this a religious thing?”

  “A jihad? Not that I am aware of. This is one man with an ax to grind.”

  “All you did was send him home?”

  I embarrassed him in front of other men. He dropped to his knees in front of me, begged for his life, and was then sent home to his father in utter disgrace.

  “Yep. In fact I saved his miserable fuc’n life by sending him away. If he’d stayed he would be dead like everyone else in that apartment.”

  Then I wouldn’t have him as a problem now. Damn! I rolled my eyes. I’d brought it upon myself.

  I watched Kurt’s mind working. I love how men show all the workings on their faces. Saves all that guesswork. When it’s blank there really is nothing going on, so don’t bother asking. He wasn’t blank. I waited for the next question.

  “When did this happen?”

  There it was.

  “Ten years ago, give or take.”

  “Ten years and now he’s coming to find you?”

  “Yeah. Long memory.”

  When I piss off people, they stay pissed off. I could see his mind still ticking over.

  “Why, Ellie? Why did he wait so long?”

  “He thought I was dead. Everyone involved in the operation thought I was dead and anyway no one knew my true identity. Four people survived: Arbab; the officer I sent him away with, a guy named Tim Cosgrove; Dion Edwards, a former CIA operative turned terrorist; and me.”

  “So what happened to change his mind?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe we need to be figuring out that part while this special rendition unit flies in here and hopefully finds him.”

  “Once he’s gone it won’t matter.” I was feeling quite glib.

  “It will matter the next time someone comes for you.”

  “There is no one else to come for me.”

  “Dion Edwards? If I’m not mistaken he’s on our Ten Most Wanted list.”

  “He thinks I am dead …” and just like that I saw his point. “Oh, I see.”

  I yawned, managing to cover my mouth. Too late. It infected Kurt. He yawned, throwing it back at me.

  “We’re safe here, for now. I didn’t use your name. Sleep. We’ll add this to the list of puzzles for the morning,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think Arbab would impact on your case. He was last seen in DC.”

  “It’s not that Arbab is impacting on my case. It’s that you shouldered this, all of it, and didn’t give any of us a chance.”

  “Sometimes denial is the best way forward—”

  “Not when it affects your health. Not when I’m right here, caught up in it.”

  “It’ll work out, it always does.”

  “You’re not dead yet, so I guess that’s a start.”

  As my eyes closed, I heard Kurt check his weapon, put the security chain on the door, and felt the bed sink as he climbed under the covers bedside me.

  I didn’t argue about us sharing a bed. Not only did I not have the strength to go through the whole flipping-for-the-sofa lark, but the last thing we need
ed now was any suspicion cast upon us by hotel staff.

  His breathing lulled me into a secure sleep.

  Fifteen

  No Apologies

  Morning brought a waft of coffee and croissants, and then I heard someone leave our room. I lay there considering getting up when breakfast arrived on a tray and I didn’t have to.

  “This is nice,” I commented as Kurt placed the tray on the bed beside me and slid out the newspaper he’d tucked under his arm. I was quick to see two coffee cups and enough croissants for us both. “Let me guess, honeymoon suite thing?”

  “Yes. Figured we’d eat in here.”

  “I’m all in favor of breakfast in bed.” I shuffled up until I was sitting, and didn’t even rock the tray.

  “You feeling better?” Kurt asked as he helped himself to food.

  “I think so.”

  The croissants were delicious, melt-in-the-mouth good. The coffee was excellent. I could see sun peeking through the curtains. Glorious sun to follow marvelous coffee.

  “You’re smiling,” Kurt said.

  “Yeah, go figure.”

  “You slept the sleep of the dead, by the way. Twice I checked you were still breathing.” He took another croissant. “See, sharing is good. Lighten the load, Conway. We can take it, you know.”

  “I know. It’s me.”

  He laughed. “The old ‘it’s not you it’s me’ thing, right?”

  “No. It really is me. I don’t like making a fuss.”

  Yet falling over, vomiting, hearing things, seeing things, talking to dead people, all come so naturally?

  “You don’t like asking for help is more like.”

  That could be part of it.

  He spread out the newspaper on the bed then reached for his coffee. We were done talking. I flipped on the television and surfed channels while drinking my coffee. Nothing held my attention. I didn’t feel like cartoons and there were a lot of channels playing them. I searched for news and came across Entertainment Today. I could hear Mac’s voice, so clear and so full of mockery. “Entertainment Today ain’t news, babe.”

  I paused to agree before moving on. A picture of Rowan and Carla flashed up on the screen. I turned up the volume as Mary Hart said, “Yesterday evening Rowan Grange was seen in the company of a young woman, believed to be the daughter of his girlfriend, FBI Agent Ellie Conway.” She paused. The picture changed to one of me and Rowan, I recognized the background. It was two weeks old and taken outside a restaurant. I never saw anyone with a camera, but the paparazzi don’t have to be close to snap a picture with the gear they use. Hell, he could’ve been across town. Bastard. I focused on what was being said. “Sources say that Agent Conway is not with the pair. Earlier reports of her death were untrue. She’s believed to be out of town.”

  I nudged Kurt. “You watching this?”

  “Yes.”

  Another picture flashed up of Carla with Rowan, eating ice cream. I scanned the photo and saw Jed sitting at the next table. There was a small amount of reflection from the window; the photo appeared to have been taken at an angle to minimize the glare.

  “It’s long been known that Rowan is very fond of children,” Mary Hart said her voice lousy with conspiracy. “Could this be a new phase in his relationship with the child’s mother? Time will tell.”

  I turned off the television and sat staring at the blank black screen for a few seconds. My head moved from side to side. “What the fuck is wrong with these people?”

  I reached for my phone and called Rowan.

  “Good morning.”

  “You sound better,” he said. “Carla’s still sleeping. Had a late night.”

  “As long as she’s not too much trouble and you’re coping.”

  “All right, what is it?”

  “Entertainment Today is spouting on about you and Carla, and how I’m out of town.” That sort of thing was not new to Rowan. As much as he tried very hard to keep out of the limelight unless working, avoiding paparazzi and anyone with a camera phone wasn’t possible. “You need to know something, and I would like you to let Jed know as well.”

  “This is bad?”

  “This is manageable bad,” I replied, crossing my fingers. “Seems someone is looking for me. If this person sees this trashy shit on television or online or in some magazine, then they’ll know I have a daughter, and that she is with you.”

  “Seems, or someone is?”

  Trust him to pick at my statement.

  “Let’s say the person in question is looking for me.”

  “Has this got anything to do with the box of meat Gracey received?”

  “No, completely unrelated.” I was quite sure about that. In fact that was all I was sure about.

  He went quiet. I heard his television volume go up. “News, Ellie, check the news, channel six.”

  I turned the television back on and switched to six.

  Images of my burned house. Fire engines. Police. FBI agents. Thankfully, no sign of me or Kurt. I didn’t think there were any news crews there that fast.

  “Yeah, about that. I had a bit of a problem at home yesterday,” I said. “The house blew up.”

  I sensed pursed lips as his reply came, clipped and tight, “Bit. Of. A. Problem?”

  “I can see how you would be a little upset by this. But I am fine.” I watched the news broadcast and saw a still shot, from a camera phone maybe, of me and Kurt getting into his car. Artificial happiness forced itself into my voice. “See, there I am, safe, getting into Kurt’s car. Gosh that’s great.”

  “Your hair is a lot darker.”

  “Yeah. I’m sort of undercover. Except now, I’m not. Now every fuc’n person in Virginia knows I got into Kurt’s car with dark hair.” I took a breath. “This is just fan-fuc’n-tastic. When did this story break?”

  I looked at Kurt, he was holding up the newspaper, opened out and in front of his face. I could see the inside spread. House explodes in Oakton. Colored photographs of the burned-out shell, the same picture of us getting into the car. I covered my phone with my shoulder and spoke to Kurt, “Tell me that is this morning’s paper …”

  The paper shook ‘no.’

  “Fuck!”

  With the phone back by my ear I could hear Rowan. “Ellie, I’ll talk to Jed. I’ll give him your number. You can explain to him better what you need to keep Carla safe.”

  “And you, Rowan. Both of you. Your management and publicist are going to tell you to break up with me, again.”

  “It’s a daily occurrence,” he said with a smile in his voice.

  But this time they have a valid point. I’d break up with me if I could.

  “Do what Jed says, call me if you need me. Keep my kid safe?”

  “That goes without saying. Take care.”

  I hung up and stared at the television. Kurt said nothing. He folded the paper and took a deep breath.

  “We need more coffee,” I said. “You still wanna keep the charade up of us being married, or do you think enough people have now made the connection?”

  “You are Rylee Henderson. Let’s live in denial.”

  I smiled. If we don’t admit it, then they can’t know for sure. I liked it.

  “Okay, let’s ignore the photograph of Supervisory Special Agent Conway and Supervisory Special Agent Kurt Henderson getting into the car, and the caption in the newspaper.”

  Kurt dropped the newspaper to the floor, reached across and took the tray and my cup. With a grin he bounced to the end of the bed, reached under the blanket grabbed my feet and pulled. In one energetic move he pinned me under him. His body weight crushing me.

  “You could at least take your weight on your elbows,” I said, as the last of the air left my lungs.

  He laughed, but did as I asked.

  “Now we know why Arbab thinks you are alive. Paparazzi.”

  I closed my eyes to avoid his intense blue gaze.

  “You met Rowan six months ago. How many times have you been photographed wit
h him or linked to him?”

  My eyes flicked open; his registered surprise. “Not often, until maybe a month ago when I accompanied him to an award ceremony.”

  Rowan led this fucktard to me? And his management were worried I would hurt his image. Idiots.

  “I was ten years younger, a redhead with green eyes—”

  “Facial recognition software has come a long way in recent times. It’s possible that you seemed familiar enough for him to run a comparison.”

  I searched the inner workings of my mind, and old files I kept hidden there, for how would he get a picture of Demelza. “My ID or my passport: he would have had access to both while we were in the desert.”

  Kurt leaned closer. Playful. I lifted my legs and pushed him off me.

  “Too bad, I was enjoying that,” he said as he rolled away.

  “Yeah, me too, but that’s beside the point,” I said with a swift smile. It was dangerous around Kurt. Feelings I kept well in check simmered close to the surface the longer we were together.

  I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Must’ve just been tired and stressed yesterday. Everything felt balanced again. Balanced is good. In fact it is more than I dared hope for.

  I found clothes and managed to shower with the door shut, without incident. A light dusting of mineral powder, a little black eyeliner, and then I swiped some black mascara over my lashes. My bangs hung past my eyebrows almost in my eyes, causing me to flick my head. The hair slipped back, irritating me. Scissors would fix that.

  My eyes watched my every move. It was odd. I was watching me watch myself. Flashes of my past scrolled across the mirror. The timeline began when I was twenty-one. It paused at the twenty-three mark and showed me pictures of heat rising and shimmering over gold sand. It was a pretty desert landscape but I knew it wouldn’t last. I reached out with my index finger and swished the image, it rolled to the left revealing an old building that appeared to have risen from the sand. Dion stood, bent over, sweating in the courtyard. My open hand hit the window. The only solution to his plight was to shoot him, but Ameer convinced me he would do it.